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A Lifetime Lost [Intangible AU Part 15]

Finally, the last chapter is here.

We're at the end, yay! 

[Though I am not sure if my enthusiasm is in any way reminiscent of what I have done in this ending...]

Nevertheless, I had so much fun writing this AU, thanks to all your support and lovely comments.

Love you guys to the moon and back.

~•~

Days at Blackgate Prison passed in a dull monotony. He was kept isolated and mostly in a straitjacket as once when Scarecrow took charge, he had gotten extremely self destructive.

Scarecrow wanted an out from Blackgate and yet Jonathan had not opted for the insanity plea. So the alter took things in his own hands. If he hurt himself bad enough, the authorities might alert the court, putting him on suicide watch and then he would be shifted to Arkham regardless.

A few days later, a lawyer came to see him, appointed by the Gotham City Court. He told him he would be representing him at the next court session but Jonathan could hardly pay attention to him, his mind hollow after the torment inflicted by Scarecrow.

His lawyer, a decent young man by the name of David Thompson, decided that it would be better if he handled things at the court session himself as his client wasn't in the right state of mind to do so. When the next hearing commenced, an insanity plea with witnesses and a thorough investigation was filed, yet Jonathan had no idea about it.

Therefore, when one day the guards came to his cell and unlocked the door, he looked at them in surprise.

"Get up, you're being moved," one of them remarked.

"Moved?" Jonathan stood up, his legs shaking after staying in the same position for long.

"Transferred," he ensured the cuffs were in place before bringing him out.

Two armed guards followed them down the corridor until they reached the outer courtyard where a prison van was parked.

"But where are you taking me? What is this all about?"

"Your lawyer will tell you. Get in the van."

He had no choice but to comply and once he settled down, two armed guards took their position at either side of him. The seat in front of him was empty but not for long as David climbed into the van as well.

"Good morning, Jonathan," he greeted him as he took the seat across from him.

He flinched at the informality in his tone, "Do I know you?"

"I'm your lawyer. David Thompson. We met a few days ago. I represented you at the last court session."

"Yes but I don't remember telling you we could be on first name basis," he remarked coldly, his eyes sweeping over the man's face.

"Sorry, force of habit." But then seeing that Jonathan really didn't recognize him, he added, "I studied law from KSU. We shared the same dorm. So yes, we were on first name basis... Once."

The words came as a shock to him and his eyes widened, just then recalling the vivacious law student he shared a dorm with during his last year at the KSU. David was a few years younger than him and was the only person at his university who made an effort to talk to him and not bully him.

He wasn't as close to be deemed a friend but he was an acquaintance Jonathan had almost forgotten.

"David, I remember now... What are you doing in Gotham?"

"Saw your case in the papers then I got a call if I could represent you and I accepted. I could have told you this earlier on our first meeting but you seemed slightly out of sorts then."

Jonathan barely remembered their first meeting that took place a few days ago. He wanted to ask more details but focused on the most important question. "Where am I being transferred and why?"

"You're going to Arkham. The judge ruled in favor of the insanity plea."

His memory seemed to have gaps in between. The way David told him the news, it felt as if they had discussed it earlier at some point yet he hardly remembered it. Possibly Scarecrow had been in charge then and taken over the discussion.

"People at Blackgate don't want to keep you either, stating you're unstable. So Arkham was the only option."

"But there's no one in Arkham anymore... It's a ruin."

He shook his head, "I wouldn't pass that judgment so quickly if ever you. True, there's no longer a head psychiatrist at Arkham but the systems you implemented are running just fine. The place is safe, you'll be in isolation but it will be a lot better than Blackgate. You might even feel at home."

He hadn't exactly expected that. How could a place like Arkham run just fine without anyone to oversee it? In fact, in Gotham, systems with an overseer also tended to fail.

The only person who could manage running the asylum despite all that destruction was Miguel Hanson but even he was in Bludhaven with his family.

Or so Jonathan thought.

The van came to a halt after passing through the large iron gates of the very familiar and desolate asylum premises. Jonathan got down, David at his side, taking in the facility that he devoted a lot to now standing in the same ruins of its notorious reputation.

A pang of guilt stabbed his heart. He had thought of transforming Arkham but failed miserably.

Stepping inside, his eyes flickered at the reception desk that was unoccupied. Some part of him had almost expected to see Miguel there.

Some part of him felt bad that he wasn't.

He said not a word as he was escorted to the top security wing and locked up in one of those haunting cells. David stayed for a while, briefing him about the sentence Judge Farrow had passed regarding him, but then he had to go as well and silence swept over the surroundings.

Complete silence.

In that cell, Jonathan could hardly tell whether it was day or night. It had no windows, the floor was bare and there was just a small space in the corner where he could sleep.

But it was better than Blackgate in a sense. He didn't have to stare at the empty faces of the guards, didn't have to hear the protests of any new prisoner being brought in and of course he didn't have to stay in a straitjacket.

"See, I told you Arkham was a better option for us, at least now we can easily escape."

Scarecrow's scratchy voice resonated in his head, making him realize that he wouldn't ever be fully alone. The deadly alter would stay with him.

While that thought had been a comfort earlier, now it only brought an intense dread.

"Of course, I'll never leave you. Unlike some people who you foolishly cared about..."

"I don't want to talk," he mumbled, "let me rest."

"Alright. Have it your way then."

Scarecrow's voice faded but Jonathan found himself unable to rest. Now that he was alone, without any eyes staring at him, his thoughts that were usually a scattered mess started to gravitate towards Charlize.

"When you said you needed rest, I expected you would sleep, not indulge yourself in this torment."

"Shut up."

"Why do you still think about her? She left you. She handed you over to the authorities. She's the reason we are here. Why can't you accept that?"

His back rested against the cold stone wall, eyes drawn to his wrists that were shackled, "Sometimes... Sometimes, I wish I could forget her. But I can't..."

"I can help you forget."

He shuddered, "No."

"Well, then you're bent on torturing yourself intentionally. There's nothing I can do about it. Go ahead, have a blast." The voice had turned sarcastic, ridiculing him before fading away.

Jonathan closed his eyes, memories swirling in front of him. Each a picture from his past with Charlize that he yearned to relive but couldn't.

He also couldn't erase her face the last time he had seen her. She looked so... Haunted. And it was all due to him.

Some time later, he drifted off to an uncomfortable sleep. He had no means of telling how long had passed since he was locked up in that cell. 

He also had no idea how long he slept.

When he woke up, it was the same cell and isolation that greeted him. The same glimpse of a corridor that he had walked before hundreds of times in the past yet could only stare at it from behind the bars at present.

At last he heard footsteps. He straightened, assuming it would be some guard, tasked to bring him food.

However, when the person holding the tray stopped in front of his cell, he was shocked to see him.

It was Miguel.

Balancing the tray in one hand, Miguel twisted his key in the lock, pushing open the iron bars. He stepped inside and put the tray down, then closed the gate before sitting across from Jonathan.

"Miguel...?" He was still staring at him in disbelief, as if he was just a hallucination.

"Doctor Crane," he replied, his voice slightly strained, "you should eat something. There's no use starving yourself."

His hands shook as he reached for the cup of tea, holding it in between his palms tightly. The warmth from the cup seeped into his skin and shortly after, the trembling ceased and he was able to lift the cup to his lips.

Miguel was silent, giving him time to eat first and adjust to his unexpected presence. He knew Jonathan had questions and so did he, but he had a better chance of getting the truth from him once he was stable.

"Why did you come back?" Jonathan asked at last, putting the cup down and focusing on the sandwich.

His stomach grumbled as he had forgotten when was the last time he ate. Plus, the food tasted good—something that he had been severely deprived of at Blackgate.

"I couldn't keep living in Bludhaven without a job," Miguel replied, "and the money you left us ran out in a couple of weeks. I couldn't stay on the run forever, not with my family."

"Oh..."

"Besides, my home is in Gotham. Even though it is in a terrible state after what happened..." He referred to the destruction of the Narrows when the fear toxin had been released in the city's main water line. The whole apartment building received the worst of it. "We've shifted back and are trying to fix it up."

"And your job?"

"I met with the Board of Directors. They've reinstated me in Arkham as no one else is willing to work here," he sighed softly before adding, "I don't know if Arkham ever will be what you imagined but at least I can keep it functional."

"One man against the system..." He clicked his tongue in disappointment, observing the man with hazel eyes and a drawn expression, an almost sympathetic look flickering in his blue eyes.

"I'm not against the system. I'm just trying my best to survive," Miguel replied, his eyes constantly falling to the cuffs on his wrists. "I have questions though. You told me you'd give me the truth if we ever met again. I want to know."

Having nothing else to do, he nodded, "Go ahead. In return, you'll have to do something for me."

He raised an eyebrow skeptically, knowing it was a bad idea to agree to that request. But for some inexplicable reason, he gave in, "Deal."

By then, Jonathan was almost done with breakfast and felt much better than earlier. He awaited the questions while his thoughts started to spiral again.

"Why did you tell me to leave?" Miguel asked, and it was clear that question had confused him most. "The Narrows almost collapsed with whatever it is you did that night. Why warn me earlier?"

He shook his head, "I don't have a clear answer to that. I just... I didn't want you and your family to get involved in any of this."

"You didn't think the same way for the rest of the people who lived there and got infected by the fear gas. Most of them died... The rest are right here in restraints. They've gone absolutely insane."

"I didn't know them," he shrugged nonchalantly, "so of course, I didn't care."

Miguel took in a sharp breath at his indifference but then resumed, "And Doctor Thorne... What did you do to her? You knew her, you even cared for her... I thought you loved her."

He averted his gaze, "But I didn't deserve her."

"What happened that night? Did you hurt her?"

"It wasn't quite me who hurt her," his voice was low and his eyes shifted in guilt but the words kept pouring out as if he was afraid any delay would cost him heavily. "I wasn't in control of myself then... I... I should never have let her come close to me in the first place. I saw it coming and yet, I did nothing but watch it happen."

An awkward silence engulfed them as Jonathan rested his head back, closing his eyes briefly, the unwanted flashbacks from that night swirling in his memory.

"Sometimes, I'm not quite myself. I... I become more dangerous... Deadly. It's not me and yet it won't let go of me. It's a part of me that I can't control anymore," his voice trembled as if something or someone was forcing him not to say further.

Much to his surprise, Miguel nodded as if he understood what he was telling him, "I have always suspected something was terribly wrong with you. When you abruptly got angry or volatile, it felt like you got possessed and acted nothing like you usually did. At first I thought it was due to the chemicals—all that anger and your mood swings—but it goes deeper than that, doesn't it?"

"Yes, it does..." He mumbled, his voice barely audible and somewhat choked. "That night, I don't even remember much of what happened when I took Charlize to the office. All I remember and can't forget is seeing her on the floor, bleeding... I... I took her to the hospital myself but I couldn't stay... That was when I called you to leave Gotham... Everything that happened afterward to the city, to the people... It is my fault and yet I never wanted her to get hurt. Never."

He stopped, blue eyes meeting perturbed hazel. Miguel wanted to ask more but seeing the guilt and frustration on his features, as well as the tight clenching of his fists, he relented and gave him time to speak at his own pace.

"I don't know where she is now. The last time I saw her was at the first hearing of my trial. The only hearing I went to..." After a short pause, Jonathan added, "Actually, in return for these answers, I was going to ask you to find out and tell me if she's safe, if she's alright... I need to know. Please."

"It's no use. I tried to find Doctor Thorne the first thing when I returned to Gotham," Miguel replied, gaining his complete attention. "I remembered she brought students to Arkham once so I went to Gotham university and met Doctor Hargrave."

He straightened, "And?"

"He told me she resigned. Asking around, I found out where she used to live but there was a lock on her door."

He looked concerned and anxious to find out more, "Oh... But where did she go?"

"All I know is she left Gotham. And perhaps it's better she left. Her association with you wouldn't have helped her stay here. She would have been hounded by the press and called to the GCPD for questioning. She would not have been safe."

He was right. Jonathan also knew Gotham would become a difficult place for her to live in if people found out about their relationship.

It was better that she left. At least she could start her life afresh in a new place where she wouldn't constantly be reminded of his presence.

"So even if I want to find out where she is, I can't. I'm sorry," Miguel's voice shook him out of his thoughts and he nodded briefly, knowing there was nothing they could do.

Charlize was a chapter of his life that he should never have indulged in. At least now there was no other option but to close those pages forever, both for his benefit and hers.

He was silent for a long time but then spoke up, addressing him directly, "Miguel... You wanted to know why I warned you and your family..."

"Yes, why?"

His eyes glazed over, intense sorrow taking hold of him. "You... You remind me of what I would have been like if I had a normal childhood. If I had a family. If I didn't have to spend my days with my grandmother. You... You embody the word normal—a state that I can't reach—no matter how hard I try."

Those concerned hazel eyes flickered as he remarked, "I'd say you had your chance, Doctor Crane. You also found someone who genuinely cared for you. But the timing wasn't right and perhaps you were too far gone in your plans that you couldn't put it all aside for her, even if you loved her."

"Maybe... Maybe this is just a lifetime lost between us. An unachievable reality... Or maybe I was just too selfish. Too greedy for more power and control that it backfired. That instead of choosing her over my ambitions, I ended up bringing destruction for us both."

What could Miguel say to that confession? Nothing. 

Thus, only a single word escaped his lips with a regretful sigh, "Maybe."

When he stood up to leave, he realized he had one more thing to tell Jonathan. 

"A new psychologist has been assigned to Arkham. She will look after your case too and probably come to visit you."

Jonathan hadn't expected that, "A psychologist?"

"Yes. Some Doctor Quinzel, I haven't met her yet. She'll be writing down your evaluation report for the follow up hearing. I just thought I should tell you beforehand."

He paused, letting the words sink in. But then, he looked up, "Thank you, Miguel. I'll be careful."

Doctor Quinzel. He wondered if he knew who she was and why she chose Arkham of all places to work at.

A new psychologist meant a new authority figure who wouldn't want Arkham to work with his implemented systems. Someone who could be like his predecessor and not care about the proceedings. But if she was anything like him—an ambitious soul with a vision or a curious nature—then she could be a threat.

However, that evaluation report from her would decide his future, so he had to be careful.

Miguel locked the cell as he stepped out with the tray and soon, the sound of his receding footsteps vanished.

After his departure, Jonathan was left in the hollow silence again with no one but the Scarecrow for company.

***

Five years, three months, and twenty days had passed since she left Gotham, but the details of Jonathan Crane's trial and sentencing remained seared in her memory.

Charlize Thorne had left the city soon after he got sentenced to Arkham, hoping she could start afresh. But she never got closure and even though five years had lapsed, she still felt she was running away from her past.

In the fear of her past catching up to her, she had never been peaceful and by then, she was certain there was only one way her restlessness would come to an end.

She had to visit Gotham one last time.

She had to see him.

The biting cold air struck her as she got off from the train, her hands buried in the pockets of her thick burgundy coat. The station seemed all too familiar and yet quite different, as things had changed since the last time she had been there.

The metal rails were frigid against her trembling hands and once she left the station, hailing a cab right outside, she rubbed her hands together to warm them up. The skin around her nails looked almost blue—freezing—and the tremor in her fingers hadn't subsided.

"Quite chilly weather, ma'am. You should wear gloves to keep you warm," the cab driver remarked, turning up the heater. "Where to?"

"Arkham Asylum."

Even saying the words left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth but she ignored it, knowing there was no turning back.

She tuned out the driver's chatter, focusing instead on the changing cityscape outside the window. She saw a café where there once used to be a vinyl store, Central District seemed more crowded than earlier, and the unfinished construction at the topmost floors of Robinson Plaza had also reached completion.

Five years was a long time. Long enough to forget someone.

Perhaps he had forgotten her by then. 

Perhaps he hated her and wouldn't want to see her after everything that transpired between them.

But she had to try. She deserved the chance to finally close that painful chapter and move forward with her life.

At last, the cab came to a halt in front of the desolate asylum and she paid the fare, getting off with her small handbag.

She had no intention to stay in Gotham. Just one short visit that was long due and then she would return to her new life at Metropolis. Her second chance, as she sometimes referred to it.

The large iron gates parted and she walked inside the barren premises. The old oak tree was still there, its dry branches spreading out a blanket of gloom. Suppressing the unease that rose in her heart, she climbed up the steps, pushing the main door just a bit.

It opened without any resistance and when she stepped in, she took a sharp breath. 

Arkham no longer boasted the spick and span internal environment it did under Jonathan's management. Everything felt just as dead and withering as that oak tree outside.

"Doctor Thorne?"

A familiar voice caught her by surprise, and she turned to see Miguel Hanson. She was relieved to recognize at least one face in the haunting corridors of Arkham Asylum.

"Mister Hanson, sorry I came by unannounced," she came to the desk and he put aside the floor mop and wiped his hands.

"No worries. How are you?" But then watching her gaze trail to the mop and bucket, he shook his head, "Dom didn't come today so I had to do the sweeping. Arkham is pretty much a one-man show now. And unfortunately, I'm that one man."

"Oh... I'm sorry," she retrieved her gaze apologetically. 

"Don't be. Wait, just a second," he started the old computer setup on the desk, "I'll have to check you in. You're here for...?"

"I want to see Jonathan Crane," she replied, her voice faltering slightly, "if it's permissible, of course."

He contemplated, "We don't have a visitor's policy for those in the top security wing. But I'll see what I can do for you."

"Thank you so much, Mister Hanson."

"Not a problem. Take a seat, I'll be right back." He gestured to the chairs close to the desk then after checking something on the computer, he left.

She sat down with her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her fingers interlaced to stop the slight shivering. When Miguel finally returned, she stood up, looking at him expectantly.

"Come. You can meet him in the therapy room. It will be safe... I think."

His uncertainty revealed that he hadn't yet told Jonathan that she had come to visit him. As they got into the elevator and the wooden box slowly creaked upward, she looked sideways at Miguel.

He looked ten years older than how she last remembered him. His face had wrinkles, caused due to stress, and his hair had greying streaks.

"Mister Hanson, how have you been?"

He shook his head, "You didn't answer my question either. I suppose the same answer would suffice which you could have given me."

She took in a sharp breath, understanding immediately what he implied. "I see... How... How is he?"

"You'll see for yourself soon. Here," the elevator came to a halt and he stepped out first, holding the door for her.

A mix of anticipation and worry gripped her as they walked down the vacant corridors. Arkham felt even more chilling with no staff around.

At last, they reached the starch white therapy rooms. Through the glass, she saw someone occupying the room in front of her and her breath hitched in her throat. 

His hands were cuffed to the table and his head rested on his upturned palms, possibly shielding himself from the light. His hair were longer—unkempt—and she couldn't yet see his face.

"Doctor Thorne, before you go in, I must warn you. He likely won't remember you. If he doesn't, please don't force him to."

That warning was rather uncalled for. "What... What happened to him?"

"He has been through severe rounds of shock therapy although it a few years have passed since then. But we've not had anyone to check if he recovered from the shock or not."

Her eyes widened in alarm, "Shock therapy? Why?"

"Only God and Doctor Quinzel know," he mumbled, an evident distaste for the aforementioned psychologist lacing his tone.

"Is Doctor Quinzel his psychiatrist here?"

"No, psychologist. Resigned. It's been three years." He said it almost as if Doctor Quinzel had it coming. But then he spoke up, "I don't think I can leave the reception desk for long. But I can't afford to leave you alone with him either."

"Oh, of course. It won't take me long, I promise."

"Good," he nodded, stepping ahead to open the door, "if he acts up, call me. I'm right outside."

"Okay. Thank you, Mister Hanson." Her heart was beating too fast but she turned towards the open door, taking in a shaky breath.

Jonathan still hadn't looked up from his hands. However as she stepped in and the door closed behind her, he stiffened, sensing he was no longer alone.

He could hear the chair in front of his scrape against the floor as Charlize sat down. But he didn't lift his head, remaining as still as a statue.

"Jonathan?" She called out softly—extremely cautious as she didn't know how he would react to her presence.  

Slowly, he lifted his head, those striking blue eyes peeking at her from behind the temporary shield of his hands. He kept staring as if he wasn't certain whether she was real or a hallucination.

When a few minutes passed and she still didn't fade into nothing, he lowered his hands, interlacing the fingers tightly. He looked utterly disheveled and it sent a painful twinge through her heart. 

She had never seen him like that. So utterly helpless and so unaware of himself and his surroundings.

His eyes were mapping out her face, flickering over each feature as if he was trying to memorize each detail all over again. It seemed that he was taking his time to recognize her, to connect all the dots and put a name to the hauntingly familiar face in front of him.

"Charlize," he breathed out at last, his voice sounding unfamiliar to himself even after so long of not saying a word.

"Hello, Jonathan," she spoke up, holding back the tears that were welling up in her eyes.

He took in a deep breath, accepting that she was really there and would not disappear. Then his hands disentangled and he turned his palm upwards, almost yearning for her to put her hands in his.

His blue eyes were frantic and his hands twitched, desperate to be held. At last she gave in and held his hands, feeling his callous skin envelope hers.

"Have you come to say goodbye?" He asked, holding on tightly but not too firm for his grip to hurt her.

"I couldn't come earlier. I'm sorry it took so long..."

"You haven't come back. You will leave nevertheless," he mumbled, his finger rubbing against the golden band on her finger, turning her hand in his grip to look at it clearly.

"I must. You're right, I came to say goodbye."

He stared at the ring then back at her, finding her face too expressive and too irresistible as always. It had been years and he had still not figured out whether he was truly in love with her or if her accusation was right and he only loved the feeling of someone loving him like she did.

But how could anyone else be like her? It was quite impossible.

Jonathan leaned forward, dropping his head on top of their entwined hands. The tears fell from his eyes then and feeling that he was crying, she couldn't hold back her tears either.

"I know it's too late but I am sorry," he mumbled, his thumbs brushing over her knuckles, his lips touching her fingers desperately. "I am so, so sorry, Charlize. I never deserved you and I ruined you."

She couldn't say anything in response but sat there with her hands placed in his and her eyes getting red. She had expected their meeting to be painful but it still felt somehow worse than she had imagined.

At last, he looked up, his blue eyes staring at her as if trying to keep her face in his memory forever—each curve of her eyelash, each crease in her soft lips, everything he could see, and everything he couldn't—he wanted to preserve it.

It felt as if her thoughts were the only thing that kept him sane and seeing her again was another lifeline—a hope to cling to when everything else seemed lost.

But he couldn't keep burdening her forever. He had to let her go.

"Maybe in another life," his voice shook but he couldn't complete the sentence as he let go of her hands at last, brushing his thumb over her fingers—and over that ring—for one last time. 

She understood what he meant and the implication stabbed through her. As he let go of her hands and she stood up shakily, she made one impulsive decision—possibly the last impulsive decision she would make in that lifetime.

Leaning closer, she kissed him and when she let go, she breathed, "Goodbye, Jonathan. Maybe in another lifetime, we might get the chance to be together. But not now. Not in this life."

His eyes had fluttered shut, his thoughts in a daze after her lips touched his. But she had pulled apart immediately  and those words registered in his head.

By the time he could say anything, she had gone, disappearing through that starch white door, never to show up in front of him again.

***

So that's all for this AU. 

However, I had like two different options for the ending already and maybe... Just maybe... I might change the ending of this AU for the version I am writing in Shadow Puppets.

Maybe it will be happy.

Maybe it will be even worse, heheheh.

Let's see where that goes.

Once again, thanks for reading, voting, and supporting my work. Your comments make my day and I am so glad to have such loyal readers.

Have a lovely day and stay blessed.

~•~

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